


Would you love me less?

by kazhan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bo-Katan's racism, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, Boba Fett's daddy issues, Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Dietary restrictions, M/M, Mention of Child Abuse, Mention of unhealthy sex practice, Physical Trauma, Post Season 2, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Reminder that Boba Fett is Anti Jedi, Smut, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, concussion, mention of alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazhan/pseuds/kazhan
Summary: Three. That's the number of times Boba's entire world was turned upside down, leaving him changed forever.The first time was when the Jedi cut his father's head off on Geonosis. The second time was when he fell into the sarlacc pit.The third time happens when he meets Din Djarin on Tython.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett
Comments: 52
Kudos: 424





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was supposed to be a simple, short PWP, but Boba decided to have feelings, and here we are.
> 
> The second part is already in the works and hopefully, I won't need a third one. 😂
> 
> Thanks the lovely [Cee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cls1606/pseuds/cls1606) for beta reading this. <3

Boba can't sleep. He's used to it by now. Ever since his father died on Geonosis, Boba hasn't gotten a proper night of sleep unless he was pissed drunk or exhausted to the point of almost collapsing before reaching his bunk. Sleep always eludes him unless he is in hyperspace because that's the only place where he's felt safe. Aboard the Slave I, curled up in the bunk that used to be his father's and lost amongst the stars.

Things have only gotten worse since the sarlacc. 

Every time he closes his eyes it's like he's back there, waiting to be slowly digested by that monster. Boba doesn't want to fall asleep because he refuses to wake up screaming like a terrified kid for everyone to hear. It's happened once or twice since he rescued Fennec and she's never said anything about it, but Boba still hates the thought of showing such weakness to anyone.

He is laying in bed on his back, his eyes wide open as he stares at the ceiling. It's been years since he put a foot on Nevarro and needless to say the place has changed a lot recently. From what he gathered, this is all thanks to its new Marshal, _Cara Dune_. From the look she gave him the first time she saw him, she knows exactly who he is and Boba expected her to be more wary of him. But she apparently has unlimited faith in the Mandalorian, because she didn’t hesitate to offer him and Fennec rooms to stay in until they finish planning their attack on Moff Gideon's fleet.

The mattress is too soft and Boba knows it wouldn't change anything at this point but maybe he should have stayed in the Slave I. It's the only place where he's ever felt truly comfortable anyway. 

Boba is about to get out of bed when he hears the sound of a door hissing open. It comes from the room next to his, the one Dune gave to the Mandalorian and Boba sits up to listen to the man heading out of the building. It seems Boba isn't the only one who can't sleep tonight. 

The Mandalorian - Din, the Marshal had called him Din - had been extremely quiet on their way back from Morak. Sure, he doesn't seem particularly talkative in the first place, but he'd been barely responsive through the whole journey and Boba noticed how tense he had looked.

Whatever happened on Morak, Din obviously has issues dealing with it.

Boba shouldn't care. He usually doesn't. But there is something about the Mandalorian that piques Boba's curiosity and it's not like he's asleep anyway. So he gets out of bed with a grunt, throws on some clothes and shoves his boots on without bothering to lace them properly. 

He finds the Mandalorian outside of the building. Din is out of armor, sitting on the porch with his back to Boba and he's only wearing a pair of pants and a dark shirt. Boba can't quite make out the color in the darkness. He's still wearing the helmet and it should be ridiculous but Din's head is tilted towards the stars and their light is softly reflected by the beskar, giving the scene in front of him some sort of surreal tone. 

Boba can't help but notice how _small_ he looks out of his armor. Din is taller than him - most human males are anyway, it's a fact Boba has had years to get used to - and he's far from frail. But the armor gives him additional bulk and makes Din stand taller and bigger. Looking at him now, he's far from the fearsome Mandalorian Boba has seen fight. And yet, he would never make the mistake of underestimating him.

Din is hurting, and Boba knows how dangerous a man in pain can be.

"Can't sleep?" he asks, because Boba is forty one but he still has no idea how to make conversation.

Din startles and whirls around to face him, his hand rushing to his right boot where Boba knows he keeps one of his vibroblades. The Mandalorian stills when he recognizes him, his shoulders sagging in relief as he realizes he isn't in any danger.

"As you can see," he sighs and turns his helmeted head back to the night sky. 

It was a stupid decision, coming here. Boba isn't good at talking to people and the Mandalorian clearly isn't much better. But Boba started this and he isn't the type to back down from a challenge, no matter how ill-equipped he is to face a situation. _You adapt, Bob'ika, that's how you survive_ , his father used to tell him. 

So Boba walks up to Din and sits down next to him. The porch isn't very large so their shoulders are almost touching like this. Boba finds he doesn't mind the proximity.

"Thinking about your _ad?"_ he asks and immediately feels stupid for the question, but mostly for the use of Mando'a. 

He hasn't spoken the language in _years_ for lack of anyone to speak it to and it feels foreign on his tongue. Boba has forgotten a lot of words his father taught him but this one he remembers. _Ad'ika_ , Jango used to tell him fondly before ruffling his hair, or with a hint of steel when Boba had done something reckless or disrespectful. _Ad'ika_ , he'd whispered softly while stroking his back when Boba had pressed his sobs against his father's chest after a nightmare. So, Boba remembers this one. 

"He's--" Din starts, but his voice flatters. "Yes," he finally breathes out and it sounds like it costs him.

"Mmh. What's the story there?" he asks, because he can't help it, Boba is curious. "Between you and the kid, how did that happen?"

Din remains silent for a few seconds that feel like an eternity before he speaks again : "He was a bounty. I didn't know it was a kid, they just gave me his last known location and his age. He's-- fifty, one of those species that age differently."

Ah, yes. There had been rumors about the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order who had looked exactly like the kid. Rumors saying he was centuries old. 

"I found him, brought him back and got a brand new _beskar'gam_ for it," Din says and Boba can hear a sneer in his modulated voice. 

"But you came back for him," Boba whispers and he doesn't know why it makes something deep inside him ache.

"I couldn't leave him. He's just a kid, I didn't know what they were going to do to him but-- he's just a kid," he repeats, chokes on the words.

Ah. That's it, Boba realizes. That's why it hurts.

Aurra hadn't come back for him.

No one ever had.

But Din had taken one look at this kid and decided he couldn't leave him in the hands of the Empire. And now, he is willing to fight a Moff and his fleet to get him back. It's what Jango would have done for Boba. What no one had been willing to do after his death. Kriff, it's been years and it still hurts. Boba isn't a kid anymore, he doesn't need someone like Din to rush to his rescue.

"How d'you usually do this?" he ends up asking Din.

There’s no point in making him talk about his kid, not if it makes _Boba_ feel bad.

"Do what?"

"What helps you when you feel like crap?”

The Mandalorian is silent, and Boba can almost see him frowning under that helmet of his.

“D'you find someone bigger to beat the shit out of you?” he starts listing. “Drink yourself stupid? Fuck it out of your system? Come on, what's your nasty coping mechanism? We all have those."

"I don't-- I usually get a job. Focus on the next bounty. It's uh-- it helps."

"You can't do that right now."

"No."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I don't-- is that how _you_ deal with things?"

Boba shrugs. "Depends."

He hasn't done any of those things in a long time. When he was a kid he used to look for a fight with opponents bigger than himself. Desperate to prove himself but mostly for something else to _hurt._ It was hard to focus on how much he missed his dad when he was half delirious from the pain after getting beaten up by someone stronger and meaner than he was then.

He isn't sure which came after, the drinking or the fucking? Maybe both at the same time. He’d been far too young either way. 

Din is very still. Boba arches a brow.

"I take it you don’t do that kind of stuff."

The Mandalorian shakes his head. 

“All right,” Boba says and lays down on the porch with his hands behind his head. He’s going to regret it if he stays here too long, but he doesn’t mind stargazing for a while if that’s what the Mandalorian wants to do. 

Din tilts his head back towards the sky and silence settles between them. It’s not uncomfortable. Boba used to _hate_ the silence before Tatooine. After his father’s death, silence only reminded him of how alone he truly was and Boba spent years unable to fall asleep without music or a holovideo playing as background noise. Living in the desert has taught him to get used to the silence. Boba doesn’t mind it that much anymore. 

“I broke the Creed,” Din whispers after a while, almost startling him.

Boba frowns. “What does that mean?”

“I was a foundling. I wasn’t born a Mandalorian like you were, I was found and taught the Way by the people who saved me. I took the Creed the day I put this helmet on and swore to never remove it in front of others.”

“But you had to remove it to get the coordinates,” Boba says, finally understanding what had happened on Morak. 

Din nods. “The Imperials are all dead and Mayfeld swore he’d never say anything, but it’s too late. I can’t go back.”

His voice breaks on the last words and Boba’s frown deepens. He straightens up, lets his shoulder brush against Din’s and turns his face towards him. 

“What does breaking the Creed mean for you?”

The Mandalorian inhales sharply. “It means I shouldn’t have put the helmet back on. It means… it means I’m not worthy of being _Mando’ad_. It means I’m--”

“ _Dar’manda_ ,” Boba breathes out and watches as a full-body shiver runs through Din.

“Until a few weeks ago, I’d never met any Mandalorians who hadn’t sworn the Creed. But then I met Kryze, and she said… she called my people a _cult_ , implied that this wasn’t how most Mandalorians lived and I don’t-- I don’t know what to do,” he finally admits, his voice wavering. 

Well, kriff. Boba expected Din to be worried about the kid, not puzzling over esoteric _osik._ He’s the last person the Mandalorian should talk to if he’s looking for answers but Boba supposes that’s the issue. Din doesn’t have anyone else to talk to about this. Boba sighs and rubs a hand on the back of his skull, feeling the scars marking his skin. 

“ _Ba’jur bal beskar’gam,_ ” he starts saying and he can almost hear his father say the words. 

Boba feels Din tensing next to him. “ _Ara’nov, aliit_ ,” he says next and he knows his pronunciation is off, his accent is probably awful too. Jango would be ashamed. But he keeps going : “ _Mando’a bal Mand’alor--_ ”

“ _An vencuyan mhi,_ ” Din finishes in a whisper.

“You would have lost your kid - your _aliit_ \- forever, if you hadn’t shown your face. You acted like a father and if your people truly call themselves _Mando’ad_ , they won’t blame you for that.”

Din remains silent. 

“There’s no right way to be a Mandalorian. Simply the one _you_ choose,” Boba tells him firmly, because he might have no idea what being a Mandalorian means anymore, but that’s one thing he is sure of. 

For a second, he thinks he fucked up and made everything worse. But the other man exhales and subtly shifts his weight against Boba until his left side is entirely pressed against him. 

“ _Vor entye,”_ he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Boba suddenly feels warm all over. He isn’t used to people thanking him and has no idea how to react. 

“You should get some sleep,” is what he ends up saying. 

“I don’t think I can.”

“Need a hand?” he offers before he can bite his tongue.

Din tilts his head towards him. “Are you offering to bash my head against a wall or a good fuck?” he asks, his tone clearly teasing.

Boba’s breath hitches. “I was thinking I could sing you a lullaby, maybe tuck you in bed, too,” he says instead of what truly is on his mind, trying to play it cool.

Din makes a loud and nasty snort at that. Boba grins, almost preening at having managed to make the Mandalorian laugh when he clearly has a lot on his mind. 

“Would you?” he finally asks, making Boba frown. “Take me to bed,” Din clarifies.

Years ago, Boba would have laughed at his choice of words. He might even have laughed right now, if it wasn’t for Din. _Take me to bed, he says,_ like Boba is a good man who’ll take care of him, like he’s the type to _take people to bed_ and _make love to them_ when all he’s ever done is fuck and get fucked. _Take me to bed_ , like Boba could bring him comfort when he’s never been more than a passable way to scratch an itch at his best, and a great source of shame and anger at his worst.

Boba knows his limits. He knows what he is good at because he worked his ass off to excel and where he lacks the required skills because he never cared enough. He’s used sex to punish himself, to find relief or to _be_ comforted. If Din is looking for someone to _take him to bed_ , Boba is the last person he should turn to.

“You’d be better off asking someone else,” he says honestly and immediately regrets it because Din tenses suddenly and straightens up so their shoulders aren’t touching anymore. 

“I’m sorry for assuming.”

“Wait,” Boba blurts out and grabs his arm to keep him still. The Mandalorian freezes and Boba curses himself. “I don’t-- I’m not saying I don’t want it. I’m saying _you_ shouldn’t. With me.”

Din tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”

Boba makes a strangled sound that isn’t quite a laugh at the question. There are at least ten reasons why. Because he doesn’t know how to take care of someone else. Because Din is good and kind and he deserves more. Because the sarlacc didn’t just ruin his face and Boba doesn’t know if he can get naked in front of Din without feeling inadequate. Because Din is confused and in pain and Boba knows sex rarely makes it better. Because Din doesn’t seem like the type of man who fucks casually. Because it’s been years since Boba last got laid and he’s terrified of making a fool of himself. 

Boba never cared before, because he always made sure to only turn to people he’d never see again. But Din… kriff, he _likes_ Din, for some reason, and he doesn’t want the Mandalorian to remember him as the pathetic fuck he had when he was sad because he missed his kid.

“Because you deserve better than what I have to offer,” Boba tells him with a rueful smile.

“This isn’t about what I deserve, but what I _want_ . And right now, I want _you.”_

Kriff. A good man would say no, insist this isn’t a good idea. 

It doesn’t matter that he suddenly decided to save the life of an old acquaintance he owed nothing to the day he found Fennec Shand left to die on the sands of Tatooine, that he stopped being so angry at everything and everyone because he couldn’t kill the Jedi who murdered his father. 

Boba Fett isn’t a good man.

“Stubborn,” he mutters and gets on his feet. “All right. Come on then.” 

“That was easy.”

Boba doesn’t even turn around and starts walking towards the Slave I. “I can still smash your head against the nearest wall,” he growls.

Din simply laughs and follows him. 

Their walk to the ship is silent and a bit awkward, but Boba knows it can’t be helped. He can hear Din’s footsteps behind him and that’s the only indication the Mandalorian is still following him when he unlocks the Slave I and steps inside. They still don’t say a word while Boba leads him to his quarters and when he finally turns around, Din is standing next to the door, perfectly still. Boba just watches him, waiting for him to change his mind and walk out. But he doesn’t. So Boba sighs and takes a step forward, then another, until he is standing right in front of Din. Gently, he brushes his fingers against the Mandalorian’s forearm and feels the full-body shiver that runs through him. Oh, this is either going to be extremely pleasant or a complete disaster. 

“How do you want to do this?” he asks Din, who finally seems to remember where he is and _why._

Boba rarely negotiates this kind of stuff. But he doesn’t want Din to regret this when morning comes. He doesn’t want to leave him in the same state he’s left some of his past lovers. Definitely not in the same state some of his past lovers have left _him_.

Din doesn’t say a word. Instead, he presses the palm of his hand against Boba’s sternum and pushes gently. Boba arches a brow, but he gets the hint and takes a few steps back until the back of his knees hit his bunk. There, Din pushes again and Boba sits down with a huff. The Mandalorian doesn’t move, his helmet cocked to the side as he seems to be studying Boba who suddenly has to fight the urge to squirm under his gaze. 

Din’s toes off his boots and fists his own shirt before lifting it above his head. Boba’s breath hitches and he lets his gaze roam across the expanse of Din’s chest.

“D’you have lube?” The sound of Din’s voice almost startles him. 

“Yeah, I should-- gimme a sec,” he babbles and fumbles with the drawer under his bunk. It’s a mess of tools and electronic parts but he finally closes his fingers around the small bottle of lubricant he hasn’t seen and even less used in years. Boba squints at the date and lets a relieved breath out when he realizes it’s still good to use. 

“Got it,” he says. And then, after a beat: “you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I want to ride you,” the other man says, confident. 

Well, kriff. That’s enough to make the awkwardness fly out of the room and Boba’s blood boil with need. 

“If that’s okay with you,” Din adds. Boba can almost hear the smile in his voice. 

There’s no way he missed the effect his words had on Boba, the little shit. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he rasps and gets a chuckle out of the Mandalorian. 

Boba’s pulse quickens suddenly when Din hooks his fingers under the waistband of his pants to drag them down. And just like that, Din is naked save for the helmet, and Boba has forgotten how to breathe. Din is half hard already, like getting naked _for Boba_ is enough to get him going and the thought makes his own cock stiffen with interest. 

“Are you keeping your clothes on?” Din asks and there’s no judgement there, no teasing. He’s simply asking, like it would be perfectly fine if Boba would rather not undress. 

And he supposes Din really wouldn’t mind, just like Boba doesn’t mind that Din is keeping the helmet. 

Boba can’t speak, he can only reach out until his fingers close around Din’s wrist and pull to bring him closer. The other man comes willingly and Boba parts his legs slightly so he can fit between them. He lets his other hand brush against Din’s thigh and feels him shiver under his touch, the vocoder of his helmet picking up on the way his breath falters. Boba grins and shifts closer to press his lips against the Mandalorian’s left side, right on the hipbone he finds there. He sees the way Din’s cock twitches at the touch and lets go of Din’s wrist to wrap his fingers around the hardening length. He gets a surprised gasp in response and tightens his grip around the base, feeling it get harder as he bends down slightly to lick at the head of Din’s cock.

The Mandalorian swears breathily and his hips jerk forward, eliciting a low chuckle from Boba. Kriff, but he can't remember the last time he wanted a man's cock in his mouth. He always found it quite humiliating, probably because the people he used to do this for were rather fond of making this act seem as debasing as possible. They were more interested in a mouth to fuck than any technique Boba definitely didn't have and it was fine, it was what he'd been after. Older and stronger beings ready to shut him up and rough him up a little bit. 

But Din isn't moving, he isn't pushing him down on his cock by the back of his head - for lack of curls to grab - he's simply waiting, obviously tense and impatient to see what Boba's next move will be.

Well, Boba has no idea what he's going to do, but he's had his dick sucked enough times to know how this is supposed to work and he's always been a quick learner.

So he takes the head of Din's cock into his mouth and relishes in the breathless moan it earns him. Spurred on by the way Din's breath quickens and how hard he now is, Boba takes him further into his mouth and presses his tongue flat against the underside of his cock.

"Boba," Din moans through his helmet and his hand suddenly flies to the back of Boba's head.

His hold is tight but not painful and he doesn't push, simply holds onto him and Boba feels a rush of warmth run through him. He starts gently bobbing his head, mindful of his teeth as he strokes the rest of Din's cock with one hand, the other one moving up the Mandalorian's thigh to grab his hip. 

He knows he isn't as good as the whores he used to pay when he wanted to get laid and didn't want to bother with attempting to seduce someone at a gaudy cantina, but it must have been a while for Din because he clearly isn't complaining. Quite the opposite according to the way he forces himself to stay very still, his thighs shaking from the strain of trying very hard not to buck into Boba's mouth. 

Boba wants to hear more of those little sounds Din makes. He wants to see him lose control. So he takes him deeper, doesn’t stop until he can feel the head of Din’s cock hit the back of his throat and buries his nose in dark pubic hair. 

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Din moans and grabs his head with both hands.

Boba hums with satisfaction, the vibration making Din shudder and gasp. 

“You’re gonna make me come,” Din hisses through his teeth as Boba pulls back before taking him back into his mouth. The thought of making the Mandalorian fall apart with just his mouth makes his own cock ache into his pants and Boba doubles down his efforts until Din wrenches him off with a strangled gasp.

“Shit, stop, stop,” he says, breathless and Boba grins. “I want to come with your cock inside me.”

Din straddles him and settles on his thighs. Boba's hands immediately grab his hips and he can't contain the groan that rises from his throat when Din shifts his hips, rubbing his bare ass against Boba's still clothed erection. 

"Grab the lube and open me up," Din says, his tone commanding.

"Bossy," Boba growls and nips at Din's shoulder, but he grabs the bottle of lube he left on the bed and opens it before pouring some of its content on his fingers.

He reaches behind Din who lifts himself to grant him better access. The Mandalorian hisses at the first touch of Boba's lubed fingers against his hole and Boba presses a kiss on his chest in silent apology for not warming up the cold lube before. He gently rubs the pad of a finger against Din's entrance and before he can voice his impatience, finally starts pushing in.

"You don't have to be so gentle," Din rasps, his fingers digging into the meat of Boba's shoulder.

"Stop being a brat," Boba growls and punctuates his reply by giving Din's right cheek a firm swat.

The sound Din makes is music to his ears and Boba pushes his finger deeper inside him.

"You're into that, uh?" he can't help but ask as Din moans and shifts his hips, trying to get more.

“Gimme another.”

Kriff, but he _is_ one bossy bastard. Boba is tempted to ask if he means another spanking or another finger, but he feels gracious enough to comply without teasing. He’s never been much for taking his time anyway. So he pushes a second finger inside Din, stretching him open as he bends down to press a kiss on Din’s chest. His lips find a nipple and he can’t resist closing his teeth around it, pulling a gasp out of the Mandalorian. 

Soon, Din is basically fucking himself on Boba’s fingers and Boba is getting drunk on all the moans and gasps he makes. He can feel him getting impatient again and Boba grins, opening his mouth to say something clever, but Din bats his hand away and fumbles with Boba's pants to free his aching cock. He immediately reaches to grab the lube and pours some on his hand before wrapping it around Boba's cock, the cold sensation making him hiss through his teeth. 

“Asshole,” he growls, but Din doesn't give him the time to properly complain because he’s already positioning himself. The tip of Boba's cock kisses Din's rim and he barely has the time to grab the Mandalorian's hips before he starts lowering himself down his length.

All coherent thought leaves Boba's head. He can only hold onto Din and breathe through his nose to try not to come on the spot as Din ends up fully seated onto his cock like he always belonged here.

"Kriff, you're big," Din pants.

Boba closes his eyes and squeezes the other man’s hips. "Shut up," he hisses and presses his forehead against Din's chest.

"You’re into that, uh?" 

"I'll kill you," Boba mutters.

Din's laugh is light and slightly breathless, Boba wants to capture the sound and listen to it every day. 

He's so _karked._

Boba takes a deep breath through his nose and moves his hands to grab Din’s rear and give his cheeks a firm squeeze. It’s the only encouragement the Mandalorian needs to start shifting his hips and Boba has to bite back a moan at the sensation. Kriff, it _has_ been a long time since he’s done this and Din feels _amazing._ Boba looks up and he’s almost disappointed when he’s met with the T-visor of Din’s helmet. For the first time, he wishes he could see his face, see what fucking himself on Boba’s cock does to him. His chest is slightly flushed and from the trail of dark hairs leading to Din’s cock, Boba imagines tousled brown hair and red cheeks. 

It’s fine if he never gets to see Din’s face, because he gets _this._ He gets to feel him, tight and hot, to see him bounce on his cock and hear the little sighs and grunts he lets out. He can feel Din’s powerful thighs flex around him and his short nails digging into his skin. 

It doesn’t matter that Boba can’t see his face, he already knows Din is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen.

His fingers slip between Din’s cheeks to feel where they’re joined, the way Din’s rim is stretched around him and Boba straightens to bury his face into the Mandalorian’s neck. He inhales deeply, relishing in the scent of sweat and soap clinging to Din’s skin. 

“Fuck, Boba,” Din moans breathlessly. “You feel so good.”

Boba's heart misses a beat. Din slows down the roll of his hips, taking him deep and grinding gently as he bends down to press his beskar-covered forehead against Boba’s forehead. 

"So good for me.”

It feels like a punch to the gut. Just like that, Boba is nineteen, his face buried in cheap sheets and ass in the air as the whore he bought with his last bounty is fucking into him with deep, hard thrusts. He's doing his best to keep quiet but she buries her fingers in his hair, her grip on his curls almost painful, and pulls until Boba has no choice but to straighten up. 

"That's it," she whispers into his ear. "Such a good boy for me." 

Boba's moan is so loud it startles him. But she doesn't stop. She keeps pounding into him and calling him _good_ and _beautiful_ and before he can even realize what is going on, Boba is choking on a sob, tears streaming down his face as he comes harder than he ever has before.

No matter how hard Boba tried to bury the memory deep inside by fleeing the room as soon as the afterglow faded and making sure to never return to the corellian brothel, it had haunted him for years.

It still does. 

Boba has never been able to stand feeling vulnerable and the sarlacc may have changed many things, but it hasn’t changed _that._

His head is spinning and he’s almost suffocating, his whole body thrumming with want even when shame is about to overcome him. Din must have felt him tense because he isn’t moving anymore. 

“Boba?” he calls softly, his tone careful and so gentle it makes Boba shudder.

Tonight isn’t about _him._ It’s about Din who needs comfort and who, for some reason, chose _Boba_. He told him it was a bad idea but Boba has never wanted to be wrong more than he does right now. He tightens his grip on Din and slips out of the other man before flipping them over until Din is laying down on his back. Boba gets between his legs and grabs the back of Din’s thighs to press them against his chest until he’s almost folded in half. The motion pushes the air out of Din’s lungs and Boba doesn’t give him the time to recover before he presses inside him and bottoms out with a grunt.

Din throws his head back and _keens._

That’s more like it. Boba abandons all restraint as he starts fucking into Din with deep, hard thrusts. He knows Din could easily escape his hold if he wanted to, but the Mandalorian is pliant under him, moaning and taking everything Boba gives him like he’s been starving for this for _months._ And maybe he has, just like Boba has missed the warmth of another body against his, the pleasure coursing through his veins as Din clenches around him every time Boba’s cock brushes against his prostate. 

He won’t last long like this, he _can’t_ , not when Din feels so good, not when he’s gasping his name and desperately holding onto the covers like his life depends on it. 

“Can you come like this?” he grunts, because there’s no way Boba finishes before Din gets what he came here for. 

“I need-- _fuck_ , Boba, I just--” Din gasps, words failing him. 

“I got you.”

He releases Din’s legs and lets him wrap them around his waist, rearranging their position until he can close his hand around Din’s cock and stroke him in rhythm with his thrusts. Din’s cock is leaking, hard and _warm_ in his hand and Boba swipes his thumb on the head to gather some precome before resuming his stroking. Din arches his back into the touch and it’s not long before he finally clenches hard around him, his whole body tensing as he comes with a gasp. 

Boba can’t take it anymore and he does his best to keep stroking Din’s cock as he’s coming too. He lets go when Din’s moan turns into a whine and barely catches himself before he falls on top of the other man. 

“Fuck, I needed that,” Din rasps as Boba is still trying to catch his breath.

He presses his forehead against Din’s shoulder and snorts, his body still shivering with the aftermath of his orgasm. There’s also the deep and warm satisfaction of knowing he managed to satisfy Din making his insides melt. 

He slips out of Din and straightens up with a grunt, making a face at the mess they’ve made. He reaches for the cabinet on top of his bunk and opens it to retrieve a towel he uses to clean himself and Din. The Mandalorian lets him, boneless and satisfied and Boba does his best not to preen at the sight of Din’s body stretched out on his bed.

“Can I stay?” he mumbles and Boba looks up, startled.

“Won’t the helmet bother you?” he asks, fighting the reflex to tell him no because Boba has never let anyone stay the night before.

But Din doesn’t reply and it takes Boba a few seconds to realize he’s already asleep. 

“You’re too trusting,” he mutters, but he covers Din’s body with a spare blanket and stands up to tuck himself back into his pants.

Kriff, Boba is _exhausted._ Sleep has been eluding him all evening and he suddenly wants nothing more than to crash into his bunk next to Din. 

Except that would be taking it a step too far. Boba sighs and makes his way out of the sleeping quarters. It won’t be the first time he falls asleep in the pilot chair, even though he’s probably too old for that now. 

* * *

**MANDO'A**

ad = child

dar'manda = a state of not being Mandalorian, not an outsider, but one who has lost their heritage, and so their identity and soul.

"Ba"jur bal beskar'gam. Ara'nov, aliit. Mando'a bal Mand'alor-- An vencuyan mhi." = "Education and armor. Self'defense, our tribe. Our language and our leader-- All help us survive."

vor entye = thank you


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm a karking clown.
> 
> In case you didn't notice, the chapter count is now 3 because this fic has entirely escaped my control. 
> 
> The hints of body horror tag is here because I mention what happened to Boba in the Sarlacc and I don't go into details (yet 👀) but better be safe than sorry.
> 
> Thanks the lovely [Cee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cls1606/pseuds/cls1606) for beta reading this, your comments are the best and always make me laugh, and your help is very much appreciated. ❤❤❤

“Boba?” Fennec’s voice echoes through the comm. “We have control of the cruiser.”

“Copy that,” he says and because he can’t help it: “Did you get the kid?”

She sighs. “Not exactly.” Boba frowns and opens his mouth to ask what she means by that, but Fennec interrupts him: “You’ll see when you get here.” She cuts the transmission. 

_Not exactly_ , what the kriff does that mean? Did they find him, but Gideon managed to escape with him again? Or… did they find him too late? The thought of Din entering that cell just to find his kid’s small and dead body twists Boba’s guts. He knows what it’s like to lose a father, but losing a child? Boba can imagine enough to know that’s not something he wants the Mandalorian to go through. The man had been a mess after the kid had been captured but there’d been hope to find him then. 

If the child is dead… 

Boba grits his teeth and punches in the coordinates. It’s only a few minutes, but it’s enough to give him the time to imagine the worst-case scenario and try to think of what to say if Din actually lost his son. Should he even say anything? The Marshal seems to be a close friend and she’ll probably have better words for him, if there even are words to say in such a situation. What does Boba have to offer? He’s not good with words, never has been. He doesn’t know how to comfort people. And why does the thought of Din being heartbroken by the loss of his kid bother him so much? 

_Oh, kriff, you_ ** _like_** _him,_ Fennec had said, incredulous, the morning after Boba and Din had fucked. She’d found him retrieving his armor from the room he hadn’t slept in and had teased him with that annoying smug smile of hers until Boba had told her to get karked.

Apparently, that had been enough for her to start imagining things.

_“Boba, I’ve known you since you were thirteen, you’ve never been shy about that kind of stuff.”_

_“Shy?” he had spluttered. “I’m not being shy, Shand, it’s just n--”_

_“None of my kriffing business?” she had said, raising a judgemental brow._

What was he supposed to tell her? That Din had been seeking comfort yet Boba had been the one finally feeling warm and safe for the first time in years? That he’d been brought close to tears by a few words and gentle touches? That he now feels the need to take the Mandalorian out of his armor and press his body against his just to feel him close again every time he sees him? 

It’s pathetic. It’s what spending years on Tatooine does to a man. He just missed being physically close to another being and Din is everything Boba shouldn’t want. He’s always been stupid about wanting things he can’t have, obsessing over them to the point of making himself sick with anger and despair. 

He’d wanted to be unique, special, different, when there’d been millions just like him. He’d wanted his father back when it had already been years since his death. His revenge, when he’d been too weak and too stupid to ever manage to kill the Jedi who had murdered his father. He’d still wanted it, even when there’d been no more Jedi to kill after the Purge. 

Now’s not the time to start wanting a man he won’t be able to keep by his side.

Everyone leaves at some point. That’s why Boba works alone, why he stopped trying to fit in with other people years ago. People die, or betray him, or simply leave when they get sick of him or find something more interesting somewhere else. It’s just how it is. Even Fennec will leave one day and it’s fine, Boba doesn’t expect her to remain by his side forever.

But Din… Din is dangerous. 

Din makes him want things he can’t have again and Boba is done chasing after the impossible. He made that promise to himself the day he crawled out of the sarlacc and he won’t break it for this man.

Boba pulls out of hyperspace right next to the cruiser and immediately heads towards the hangar. The others are already there when he lands the Slave I and Boba quickly shuts down the engine and gets off the ship. Kryze, the Marshal and Din seem to be arguing and Fennec jogs to him before he can get closer.

“What’s going on?”

She sighs. “Mando wants to take a shuttle and leave, but the Marshal won’t let him go alone because he’s injured and Kryze wants him to stay because he has that weapon she wants.”

Boba blinks and tries to process what she just said.

“He’s injured?” he asks and ignores the look Fennec gives him.

“He’s probably concussed, he wouldn’t let us check.”

“Where’s the kid? Did Gideon escape with him?”

“No. The Marshal has Gideon, she’ll be taking him to New Republic authorities. No, the kid… the kid’s fine. A Jedi came and took him.”

Boba’s blood runs cold. “ _What?”_

“Not like _that._ Mando let the kid go with the Jedi.”

That’s… that’s worse. That’s a hundred times worse. Fennec is still speaking, but Boba can’t hear her. His ears are buzzing. _A Jedi came and took him._ Just like that? _Mando let the kid go with the Jedi._ How could he? 

Boba doesn’t even care about the child. He’s never cared about any child before. But he made a promise, and he’s seen what losing the kid did to Din, he knows what he did to get a chance to find him and he just let him go? With a _Jedi_? 

Boba walks past Fennec, right towards Din and plants himself behind the Mandalorian.

“You let a Jedi take the kid?” he hisses through his teeth. 

Din starts and whirls around. Boba barely pays attention to the way the Mandalorian sways a bit on his feet.

“Back off, Fett,” the Marshal growls.

Boba ignores her. “I thought he meant everything to you, but you let him go?”

It’s not about the kid. It’s never been about the kid. It’s about Din Djarin, who took one look at an orphan and decided to fight the whole galaxy for him. It’s about the Mandalorian who was supposed to live up to his creed. About the man who was supposed to be different. 

But he’s just like all the others, isn’t he? 

“Of course he means everything to me, that’s exactly why I had to let him go!” Djarin hisses.

That doesn't make sense. You don't let the people you love leave, you don't let your _child_ be taken by a karking Jedi when you love him. _Are you a Jedi?_ He now remembers Din asking the first time they met. So that’s it? He'd actually been looking for a way to get rid of the kid all along?

"You could have found better than a karking _Jedi_ if you didn't want him," Boba spits.

"Kark you, Fett!" Din growls and takes a step towards him, menacing. "You don't--"

The Mandalorian freezes. A shudder runs through him and for a second, Boba thinks he is going to collapse right in front of him. The Marshal seems to be thinking the same because she rushes to his side and grabs his arm.

"Din, you need--"

Din makes a wounded sound and turns around. He takes a few rushed and desperate steps before falling onto his knees and wrenching his helmet off.

Brown curls. Boba isn't supposed to see this, but he can't take his eyes off the messy hair curling at the back of Din's head.

And then Din heaves and vomits all over the floor.

"Kriff," The Marshal hisses and kneels behind him. She puts a hand on his shoulder blade and Din makes a sound between a gasp and a sob before another wave hits him.

"I told you you probably have a concussion," she says through gritted teeth. 

Din is shaking, emptying the content of his stomach until there’s nothing left. 

“You should take him to the medbay,” Kryze says calmly. 

“Imperial medical droids are programmed to only treat Imperial officers and stormtroopers and Gideon is unconscious. So unless one of you knows how to reprogram a droid, a trip to the medbay won't help him," The Marshal sighs.

She’s still behind him, purposely not looking at his face and Boba is rooted in place, a war raging inside his head. He wants to run his hands through Din’s hair. He wants to punch him in the face for thinking a _Jedi_ can be trusted with a child. He wants to leave this place as fast as possible and never see this man again. He wants to see his face. He wants to stay and help, because the Mandalorian looks like he’s about to break and Boba can’t take it. 

"I can do it," Boba mutters because he's an idiot.

The Marshal raises a brow at him. "You know how to hack droids?" she asks, surprise coloring her voice.

Boba squints at her behind the visor of his helmet. He should just ignore how she just made it sound like he seems too stupid to know how to do that, but he can’t help it. "What, like it's hard?" he sneers.

“I’m not letting an Imperial droid probe at me,” Din hisses.

“I know you don’t like droids, but Fett’s going to reprogram it. It’ll be fine, right?” She asks pointedly. 

“I know what I’m doing,” Boba grunts. 

“See? Fett knows what he’s doing.”

Din mutters something that sounds a lot like _shabuir_ and Boba snorts. “Stop whining and let’s go.”

The Marshal grabs the Mandalorian’s helmet and helps him put it back on.

“Come on,” she says and helps him stand. 

“This way,” Kryze says and starts leading them. Din’s legs are shaking and he stumbles on his own feet, but the Marshal keeps him steady and Boba follows them out of the hangar to the medbay.

There are darktroopers left in pieces on the floor, visibly cut down by a lightsaber and Boba tries to ignore his instinct shouting at him to get as far away as possible from this place.

Their progress is slow with the Marshal almost dragging Din through the corridors and Boba is tempted to just carry him there but he doubts the Mandalorian would let him, even in his current state. So he simply follows them, all the while cursing himself for not just leaving with Fennec.

His job is done. He said he'd help Djarin find his kid and he did, what the Mandalorian decided to do with him afterwards is none of his business. He'd thought Din was honorable, but he's no different from the people who let a child pay for his father's sins so _why is he still there?_

He knows better than to hope people are better than he thinks they are. He knows better than to hope, period. If Din Djarin is the kind of man who hands kids off to the Jedi, then Boba should want nothing to do with him.

But… maybe the Jedi tricked him. _You're too trusting,_ Boba told him that night and he wouldn't put it past a Jedi to use Din's fears for his kid's well-being to convince him they were the only one capable of helping him. 

Kriff, he's doing it again. It's like he's twelve again and making up excuses for Aurra because he doesn't want to believe she actually doesn't care about him. Because that would mean there is _no one_ left to care about him.

He needs to pull himself together.

The medbay is full of equipment that reminds him a bit too much of places Boba doesn't want to think about anymore. Dune leads Din towards an examination table and helps him lay down. A 2-1B immediately shows up and freezes when it notices them.

"Unauthorized personnel," it says and turns around, probably to sound the alarm.

“Yeah, we know,” Boba grunts and retrieves the hacking bolt stored inside his left vambrace before throwing it at the droid.

It stops, and Boba fiddles with the commands on his vambrace to activate the hacking fob. The virus stored inside it makes quick work of finding the portion of code added by the Empire and erasing it before rebooting the droid. 

“Hello, I am Z6-K2, medial droid. How can I help you?” it says.

“Uh, that’s useful. Where did you get it?” the Marshal asks and Boba smirks.

“This little toy’s homemade,” he says, preening a little bit. Learning programming had been surprisingly pleasant. It’s a skill his father never taught him, one he found by himself and is _good_ at. “Z6-K2, perform a full check-up on the patient.”

“Of course, sir,” it says and gets closer to the examination table. 

Din immediately tries to sit up but Dune puts a hand on his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. Din? The droid’s here to help.”

“Don’ like droids,” he mutters, his speech slurred and weakly tries to fight her off.

“Should I sedate the patient?” the droid asks.

“He probably has a concussion, so no,” Dune says. “Din? Hey, look at me. You know me, right?”

“Cara.”

“Yes. Do you trust me?”

“I-- yeah. I think?” 

The Marshal huffs a laugh. “Well then trust me when I say you need to let the droid take care of you. We’ll be right outside, okay? You’re safe.”

“I can handle myself,” Din says and Boba can almost hear the pout he’s probably making under that helmet. 

“Right,” Dune says, rolling her eyes. “Do your job,” she tells the droid.

The Marshal, Kryze and Boba exit the small room to give Din the privacy he needs. Dune crosses her arms in front of her chest and leans against the wall behind her. Boba does more or less the same on the other side of the door. Kryze simply stands there, her hands clasped behind her back. Boba can feel Dune’s gaze on him, like she’s trying to burn holes into his armor with her eyes and Boba tries to ignore her but he’s never liked being stared at. 

“What?” he barks, breaking the awkward silence stretching between them.

“What’s your problem with the Jedi?”

Boba grits his teeth. “They can’t be trusted.”

“So you still are the Empire’s lap dog.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Dune shrugs. “You sound like those anti-Jedi holos. I don’t know much about the Jedi, I was six or seven when they all disappeared, but if the Empire calls you a traitor, it means you’re probably someone I can trust.”

“That simple, uh?” Boba scoffs. “I don’t give a shit about the Empire propaganda. I remember what they were like and I’m telling you, they can’t be trusted.”

“That’s rich coming from someone whose people betrayed and slaughtered the Jedi,” Kryze drawls before the Marshal can say more.

Boba’s breath hitches. “They’re not _my_ people.”

“No? You come from the same cloning vat though, don’t you?” 

“I’m _not_ like them. My father--”

“Your father was killed by a Jedi and you’re still not over it thirty years later!” Kryze exclaims and Boba feels his blood turn to ice.

“That’s why he doesn’t trust them!” she tells the Marshal and Boba snarls. “Do you know how the Clone Army was created, Dune?” she asks and doesn’t even wait for an answer before she keeps going: “They selected his _donor,_ a man known for having killed six Jedi with his bare hands, to be cloned. And then three years into the war, the Jedi, known symbols of the Republic, are branded traitors and slaughtered by their own army. Isn’t it _convenient?_ Tell me, _Fett_ , did your precious _fathe_ r know what his clones were going to be used for? Did he participate in the rise of the Empire that took over my home and stripped my people of everything they had for the sake of his petty little revenge?” 

Boba is larger than Kryze, but he’s _fast._ He has her crowded against the wall, his hand wrapped around her throat in a split second. She gasps and unsheathes the blade hidden in her vambrace, but Boba slams her helmeted head against the wall and wraps his other hand around her wrist to stop her from stabbing him in the ribs. He gives her wrist a sharp twist and bends her elbow to plunge the blade into the wall behind her, effectively getting her stuck. She gasps and starts kicking as he lifts her off the ground, choking her in the process.

“So it’s okay for you to hunt down Imperials because you failed to protect your homeworld in the first place, but when my father gives the Jedi who slaughtered his people a taste of their own medicine he’s being _petty?_ ” he snarls and tightens his hold around her throat. “No wonder you like the Jedi so much, you’re as hypocritical as they were.”

 _We fight for peace and freedom,_ they’d say and lead an army of slaves through a useless war. They’d claim to be good people and kill a father right in front of his son, or send a twelve years old to prison. They’d pretend to be wise and let a bunch of brainwashed morons slaughter them. 

Kryze struggles to tear her blade out of the wall and reaches for her blaster with her free hand. Boba grabs her arm before she can get to her weapon, but she uses the distraction to kick his right knee. His knee-guard takes most of the hit but the joint still makes an alarming sound and Boba hisses in pain.

“Oh for kriff’s sake, _enough_!” the Marshal shouts, but they both ignore her.

Boba headbutts Kryze. The sound of metal clanking echoes loudly in his ears and he stumbles a bit. The Mandalorian princess recovers faster and pulls on her arm still stuck to the wall to lift her legs and wrap them around Boba’s neck. He has no choice but to let go of her throat and he reaches for his own vibroblade, but pain suddenly flares in his right side and Boba chokes, loses his balance and falls to his knees. 

“I said _enough_!” Dune snarls from behind him. 

She’s the one who hit him and Boba whirls around to show her not to get between him and his kill, but the Marshal is holding a blaster to his head.

Boba freezes, breathing hard. He can take her. He can take both of them.

“Don’t even think about it, Kryze, I’ll shoot you too,” the Marshal hisses. 

“He’s nothing but a stain on Mandalore’s history, this fight does not concern you,” Kryze spits.

Boba snarls, but the doors suddenly open on the droid and the three of them stop moving.

“You three are distressing my patient,” it says. 

Boba’s face colors with shame at the thought of Din hearing all this. 

The Marshal sighs. “Kryze, get over here. Fett, you stay put _._ ”

Kryze mutters a few words in mando’a and Boba doesn’t understand them, but he’s pretty sure it’s more insults directed at him _and_ Dune, this time. It takes all of his willpower to stay still and not launch himself at her to beat her until her pretty face is nothing but a stain on the floor. Kryze does listen to the Marshal though and walks away until she’s on the opposite side of the corridor. 

Boba stands with a grunt. 

“Sorry about that,” the Marshal tells the droid. It simply goes back inside, the doors closing behind it.

Dune lowers her blaster, but she keeps a steady grip on it.

“You Mandalorians are so karking _difficult_.”

“He’s not Mandalorian,” Kryze spits at the same time Boba mutters “I’m no Mandalorian.”

“ _Whatever!_ ” the Marshal shouts. “Look, I don’t care who his father was or what he did thirty years ago,” she tells Kryze. “And I don’t care about your issues with the Jedi. I'm pretty sure _this one_ was the guy who blew up the first Deathstar. If the rumors are true, he's a close friend of Princess Leia Organa and I didn't know he was a Jedi, but he--"

" _Skywalker?_ " Boba chokes, because he knows the kid who blew up the Deathstar, he hunted him down for Vader, fought him and lost twice and this has to be some kind of sick joke. " _Skywalker_ came here and took the kid?"

"Skywalker reduced a whole platoon of darktroopers to pieces to save our lives and retrieve the child who _wanted_ to go with him. I know the Empire used to say the Jedi were baby snatchers, but he didn't just waltz in and steal the child."

"Oh, well, if the _baby_ wanted to go," Boba says with a sneer.

"Oh for kriff's sake, stop being so stubborn about this! Do you really think he’ll _hurt_ the kid?"

Boba opens his mouth. Then closes it. 

He hates them, he hates them so much he can’t breathe, but the Jedi wouldn’t hurt one of their own. Even Boba can admit it. 

“No,” he rasps reluctantly. But Skywalker will turn the child, _Din’s child_ , into one of them and isn’t that worse? “He won’t injure the kid.”

Dune nods. “Then we have time to look into this without panicking and claiming that Din made a mistake by letting the kid go with Skywalker,” she says.

Boba’s eyes widen slightly. So, she believes him? He’s not just being paranoid and unreasonable? Boba frowns. Of course he isn’t. He breathes out, the tension leaving his body. The Marshal cares about Din, she’ll make sure he gets his son back, once they realize the Jedi shouldn’t have him. 

It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. Boba nods at the Marshal, not trusting his voice right now. 

The doors to the medbay open again and the droid gestures for them to come inside.

"How is he?" Boba asks the droid.

"Difficult," it says. "The patient would only let me remove his helmet to perform a scanner and I feared restraining him would only aggravate his state since he cannot be sedated. He does have a concussion, but I detected no major brain injury and gave him a painkiller for his headache. He needs to be monitored frequently in the next twenty four hours and a lot of rest, but he should make a full recovery in a few weeks. In the meantime, I suggest the patient avoids any strenuous and stimulating physical or mental activity."

"So, he needs to stay put for a few weeks?" The Marshal asks, making a face.

"Yes. I also recommend taking him somewhere the patient is familiar with. He is emotionally distressed and the confusion caused by the concussion doesn’t seem to be the only reason."

The Marshal winces. “Yeah, he uh-- just had to say goodbye to his kid.”

The droid tilts its head. “Ah. So he is grieving.”

“He’s not--” she starts and stops abruptly. “I guess-- I guess you could say that.” She sighs. “I could take him back to Nevarro, he's used to this place and I can have a room arranged for him. But I need to take care of Gideon first and I don't know how long that'll take."

“He could stay with us,” Kryze says.

The Marshal scoffs. “Yeah, right, so you can drag him into a war he’s not even interested in fighting. You heard the droid, no strenuous activities for him.”

“He has the _darksaber_ , I need--”

“You just got a karking Imperial Light Cruiser, if it’s not enough to rally your people behind your cause, a shiny sword won’t change that,” Boba snaps. 

“Mind your tongue, _clone,”_ Kryze hisses. “Djarin said he would join the fight if I helped him save the child. I expect him to keep his word.”

“Your precious ball of dust will still be there in a month, if you so desperately need Din to fight that war for you.” 

Kryze takes a step forward.

“I _will_ shoot the both of you,” the Marshal warns, standing between them.

Boba tears his gaze away from Kryze and sighs. He might as well see this through. "I'll take him to Nevarro."

Dune tilts her head, studying him. She seems to think about it for a moment, before she finally makes up her mind.

“All right.”

When they reach the examination table, Din is wearing his helmet and asleep, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a clear sign of how deep he already is. Dune rounds the table to retrieve one of the stretchers stored in the back of the medbay. Boba slips one arm under the Mandalorian's knees and the other under his back and moves him from the table to the stretcher. Din doesn’t even stir and it would be endearing if Boba didn’t know he was concussed.

Their trip back to the hangar is a quiet one and he finds Fennec waiting for him there, perched on a transportation crate and busy cleaning up her rifle and chatting with Kryze’s feral tooka. She arches a brow when she sees him pushing the stretcher but she doesn’t comment on it.

“Let’s go,” he tells her and Fennec gracefully jumps off the crate.

“You _are_ taking him to Nevarro?” Kryze asks suddenly.

Boba halts. Oh, how tempted he is to take Din somewhere else just to make finding him a lot harder for the Mandalorian princess. But the Marshal is looking at him with an eyebrow raised and this is not a decision he can make for Djarin.

“I said I would,” he says and heads towards the Slave I. 

Dune follows them as Boba pushes the stretcher inside the ship and leads Din to his quarters. Once inside, he carries him again to his bunk and hesitates a bit, before he kneels down and starts taking off Din’s armor. He starts with his left vambrace, hyper aware of the Marshal’s gaze fixed on him.

"Can I trust you, Fett?" she finally asks.

Boba pauses to look at her. "With him?” She nods, her brows furrowed. Boba resumes taking off each part of Din’s armor. “Yes. I’ll make sure he’s taken care off."

“I’ll call Greef and tell him to arrange a room for him. Goodbye, Fett. Shand.”

“See you around, Marshal,” Fennec says before Dune gets off the Slave I.

“Get in the cockpit, set course for Nevarro,” Boba tells Fennec as he gently lifts Din’s upper body off the bed so he can remove his backplate. 

Fennec doesn’t say a word, but she does as she’s told. 

Taking off someone else’s armor is weird. Boba can’t help but think his father is the last person he’s done this for. Boba was eight the first time and Jango had been injured on his last hunt. Nothing too bad, but it had been enough for his muscles and joints to ache all over and make getting out of his armor more painful than it should have been. Boba had been eager to help him and Jango had let him, a startled and almost overwhelmed look on his face. Boba remembers asking him why he looked sad, if he was hurting him, and Jango had ruffled his hair and told him that helping someone out of their armor was for _aliit_. That no one had done it for him in years and he’d almost forgotten how it felt like. To have someone he could trust like this again. 

Boba had been so proud to know he was now the only one allowed to do this and had made a point of helping his father out of his armor every time he came back home from a job after that.

His fingers shake as he removes the beskar plates covering Din’s thighs. He has no right to do this for him and the Mandalorian would probably be mad at him if he was awake. Does he have someone he trusts that much, somewhere? Someone from his tribe, perhaps?

Boba has never let anyone remove his armor. 

His father made sure to be the only one Boba would ever trust that much and he would rather die than not follow the life Jango set up for him but…

It’s lonely, sometimes.

Boba finishes with Din’s boots and grabs the spare blanket to cover him. He would probably be more comfortable without the helmet, but Boba can’t do that to him.

The Slave I jumps into hyperspace as Boba leaves his sleeping quarters.

Din sleeps through the whole journey to Nevarro. It's a twelve hour trip and Boba wakes him up every two hours to make sure he's okay. Din is still mostly confused and barely coherent, but he has no problem waking up and falling back asleep once Boba leaves him alone. Ignoring Fennec’s smug expression every time he goes to his quarters to check on the Mandalorian gets easier, but he still wishes she would just _stop_. 

True to her word, the Marshal contacted Karga to tell him they were coming and the former Guild agent is waiting for them when they finally reach Nevarro. If he trusts the light snoring Din’s helmet vocoder picks up, he’s still out when Boba goes to find him. Din groans this time, but doesn’t wake when Boba moves him from his bunk bed to the stretcher.

“Fett, Shand,” Karga greets them with a nod when they get off the ship, Boba pushing the stretcher while Fennec handles the crate he stored Din’s armor in.

“Are you two staying as well?” Karga asks. “We could use people like you around here.”

“This place is now under the New Republic jurisdiction, I think it’d be best for us to stay as far away as possible,” Fennec says.

The magistrate hums. “Back to bounty hunting, then?”

“I’m not a Guild member anymore,” Boba shrugs.

“Because people assumed you were dead. Which you obviously aren’t. What will you do, then?”

The question makes him pause. The plan was to retrieve his father’s armor, and now that he has it, Boba isn’t sure what his next move should be. He _could_ go back to bounty hunting. It’s the only thing he knows how to do and Boba is confident he still has what it takes, even after the years he wasted on Tatooine, recovering from his injuries. It’s a good way to make a lot of credits, except Boba already has enough of those to finish his days comfortably. More than comfortably, actually.

His father left him with a lot of money he actually never touched because his armor, the Slave I and those credits were all he had left of him. Bounty hunting was more than enough for Boba to survive and even thrive during the Empire’s rule anyway. He’s spent years hoarding credits and rarely spending them so he now has more than enough left to never have to work again. 

He’s had time to think, when he was stuck inside the sarlacc, delirious from both the pain and the drug the creature kept injecting him with to keep him alive until it was ready to finally digest him. Boba vaguely remembers the maniacal fit of laughter he’d had when he’d realized how ridiculous he’d been, saving all those credits no one would ever inherit after his death. 

What was the _point_? 

Boba doesn’t _need_ to go back to bounty hunting. Does he _want_ to? He… isn’t sure. So what _will_ he do, indeed?

He _could_ stay on Nevarro for a bit. Look after Din until he recovers. And then what? What if Din decides to go after his kid, is Boba supposed to follow him and get involved in a fight against the Jedi? What if he decides to do nothing and Boba can’t even bear to look at him anymore? What if Din embraces his new duties as owner of the darksaber and becomes _mand’alor?_ Boba has no interest in fighting for a planet he’s never even been to. For a people who never wanted him. 

What if Din doesn’t even want him here?

Since when does Boba’s life depend on what other people want?

Yes, he likes Din.

No, he doesn’t like him _that_ much.

“I’ll figure it out,” he says and he means it.

Boba always figures it out.

Karga nods and gestures for one of the droids he brought to take the crate from Fennec. The other one starts pushing the stretcher where Din is still fast asleep towards the small city. Away from Boba.

“Tell him to contact me, if he ever needs my help again.”

The other man nods and salutes them before following the stretcher.

“Are you sure?” Fennec asks.

Boba grits his teeth and stays quiet. The sharpshooter sighs.

“What now?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I have an idea.” 

Fennec arches a brow at him, curious. 

“You’ll like it,” he promises and climbs back inside the Slave I. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _promise_ they'll have a talk and their happy ending.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finishes touching up his clown makeup* Oh hello there! Yes, this is now a longfic, I'm done trying to give you a total chapter count because I keep adding to this story and I officially went from "I'll just write a little smut, as a treat" to "I guess I'm writing season 3????"
> 
> Anyway, thanks [Lou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elouanwrites/pseuds/elouanwrites) and [Cee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cls1606/pseuds/cls1606) for helping me fix this chapter! 
> 
> And thank you all for your comments, they're a much-needed dose of serotonin these days ❤❤❤

_This can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening._

Boba is falling and no matter how much he tries to activate his jetpack, the stupid thing just won't work and he's going down, down, down. Down into the sarlacc's mouth, down into its throat and he keeps falling, snarling and twisting, desperate to hold onto something, _anything._ The inner walls of the sarlacc’s throat are slippery and there’s nothing for him to grab. He wasted his grappling line on the Jedi, so he reaches for his vibroblade but his gloves are covered in the viscous liquid covering the sarlacc's insides and he struggles to unsheathe it. Finally, Boba manages to grab his blade but he suddenly isn’t falling anymore. 

He hits a hard surface, groans in pain as his ankle twists under his weight. Boba scrambles to activate the night vision of his helmet. It’s… sand. He landed on sand. His heart is beating so hard it’s the only thing he can hear and Boba looks up, tries to gauge how far the exit is. That’s when something grabs his already painful ankle and _yanks._ Boba yelps and struggles, but it’s pulling him into the sand and there’s nothing he can _do_ but squirm and scream as he is being swallowed by the sand. More tendrils wrap themselves around his legs and start climbing up his torso and Boba feels himself sinking deeper until there’s no more sand around him but then it’s _worse._

He’s not the only one down there. There’s a Weequay right next to him, a dozen tentacles wrapped around him, probing and squeezing as the man writhes and moans in pain and terror. One of the appendices slips into the Weequay’s mouth and Boba shouldn’t look, but he can’t tear his gaze away as the man’s eyes open wide and roll in their socket as the tentacle goes deeper and deeper, stuffing his airway full and suffocating him. 

The Weequay stops squirming. But he’s not dead, his pupils keep moving frantically and Boba can only watch in horror as he’s being dragged deeper and disappears inside what looks like a second mouth.

The tentacles wrapped around Boba squeeze and he suddenly realizes that this is exactly what is going to happen to him if he doesn’t get out of here. 

Boba snarls and slices the tentacle wrapped around his torso. He squirms and tries to aim for the ones squeezing his thighs, but more tendrils surge and grab his wrists. Another one slips around his throat and probes at the underside of his helmet, trying to find an opening. Boba’s blood runs cold as he is hit by the vision of the Weequay being choked by one of those tentacles and a gross, pathetic sob bubbles out of his throat. 

Boba groans and tries to fight off the tentacles’ grip on his arms and legs, but they’re _strong_ and he can only shake and whimper as they start roaming all over his body, as if seeking something. 

_It’s okay to be afraid, Bob’ika, but don’t let it overwhelm you. Take a deep breath and_ ** _think,_** he can hear his father’s voice remind him. _Think._ His helmet is sealed, there’s no way the tentacles will slip under it and unless they’re actually intelligent, they won’t be able to remove it. His whole body is protected, either from his flight suit or his armor. It might not be pure beskar, but he can’t imagine the sarlacc piercing through it either way. 

The tentacle around his throat doesn’t squeeze too tight and he can still breathe. It doesn’t seem interested in killing him like this. Boba is no expert, but he _knows_ the sarlacc takes ages to digest its prey. He has no idea how it works, he’s only heard rumors of how the creature swallows every living thing it catches and stores them for later, keeping them alive for long periods of time until it needs sustenance. 

Boba doesn’t know how the sarlacc keeps its food alive and he doesn’t want to find out. 

_Think._ He’s still holding his vibroblade but it’s useless if he can’t move and he can’t activate his flamethrower in this position. _Think._ His jetpack is useless. _Think._ Boba licks his lips and catches the salty taste of the sweat covering his face. _Think._ He activates his comlink and starts scanning through all frequencies but all he gets is silence. Silence and static, because there’s nobody in range or maybe he’s too deep into the sarlacc, Boba isn’t sure. 

Who would he call, anyway? 

Dengar and Bossk are probably long gone already and it’s not like they’d come back for him. 

_THINK._ He can’t. He can’t think properly, because the tentacles are still wrapped around him, squeezing and searching and one of them finally finds something. A small tear in his flight suit, on his left side. Boba gasps and starts squirming again when he feels the tendril widen the small hole and slip inside his suit. 

He should have repaired it. He _knew_ it was there, but he’d set the matter aside, something to take care of later once the whole mess with Solo was over. He should have repaired it, why didn’t he repair it, stupid, stupid stu--

The tentacle is slimy and _hot_ against his skin and Boba feels bile rise in his throat. He freezes when he feels the tentacle stop moving and for a second, he hopes it’s done, hopes it decided Boba wasn’t worth it and will just let him go. _I’m just a worthless clone, I’m nothing but anger, spite and booze, let me go, please, please let me g--_

A sharp pain flares in his left side. Boba gasps and flails, it feels like a dozen of teeth biting into his flesh, but the pain is nothing compared to what comes after. 

It’s like liquid fire is being poured into his veins.

He's screaming now, howling in pain and writhing helplessly, tears rolling down his cheeks as the sarlacc keeps injecting him with its toxin.

Moving becomes more and more difficult and Boba's grip on his vibroblade becomes loose. He drops it and another desperate sob tears itself out of his throat.

And then, Boba realizes he can't move anymore. At all. 

He can't escape.

He's going to die here.

No one is coming for him. Of course no one is coming for him.

He's going to _die_ here.

Alone.

His vision darkens and he knows he probably should just pass out and never wake up, it would be better than the pain and the knowledge of what awaits him.

This, for how long the sarlacc decides to keep him alive.

Another tentacle slips inside his flight suit and Boba sobs harder. He can feel it probe at his abdomen and stroke his skin almost gently. 

_Kill me. Please, just kill me._

The tip of the tentacle presses against his stomach and cold sweat drips down Boba's back, dampening his clothes. 

Something pierces through his skin. It feels like a needle and Boba chokes on a sob as it digs into his abdomen, as if trying to rearrange his guts, until it finally lodges itself inside his stomach.

For a second, Boba thinks he is going to puke inside his helmet. 

But then the tentacles wrapped around his legs pull and Boba goes down. 

Down and down, deep into the sarlacc's belly.

Boba wakes up with a gasp. He is drenched in sweat, the light cover all twisted around him and making him feel trapped. He wrenches it off himself and sits up, his whole body shaking as he desperately tries to _breathe._

He's not in there anymore. He got out. He got out and he _survived,_ the sarlacc is dead, devoured by the krayt dragon and Boba is _free_. 

Yet, he can’t help but let his hand wander across his chest and down to his stomach. He traces the scars scissoring his body and finds the one left by the appendage the sarlacc stuck inside him to keep him alive. Bile rises in his throat and Boba barely has the time to rush towards the fresher and bend over the sink before he empties the contents of his stomach. His head spins and he just can’t stop shaking so he grabs the edge of the sink and holds onto it with all his strength. 

Boba closes his eyes but it’s worse, because then he can see the Weequay with his mouth stretched open on the sarlacc’s tentacle and another wave of nausea hits him hard. 

Unable to stay on his feet any longer, Boba slides down to the ground and presses his back against the sink. 

He spent most of his time inside the sarlacc hallucinating because of the pain and the drugs in his system. He remembers the first time he’d opened his eyes to find his father down there with him, the illusion so real Boba had sworn he could have touched it. It had been the first time he’d seen his father so clearly after his death. Through the years, Boba had slowly started to forget what Jango exactly looked like, his own face overlapping his father’s every time he’d tried to picture him. But down there in the sarlacc, he’d looked exactly like the last time Boba had seen him.

Jango would sometimes be a comforting sight, his voice soothing and love dripping off every spoken word. And then he’d start calling Boba an idiot. He’d tell him he should have picked _another one_ because Boba was clearly _defective_ and Boba would sob like an infant, begging him to stop. To forgive him for being such a failure.

Sometimes he'd see Aurra instead. She never had anything nice to say, but Boba had grown to prefer seeing her rather than his father. At least he'd known what to expect with her.

He spent _six months_ stuck inside that thing. By that time, he had lost so much weight he had felt like his teenage self again the first time he had put his father's armor on. His flight suit had started to fuse with his skin in some places and he'd been able to feel everywhere the sarlacc's acid had started to burn his skin. 

He still has no idea how he managed to find the strength to crawl away from that thing while the krayt dragon was busy feasting on it.

Boba lets a shaky breath out.

Maybe coming back to Tatooine was a bad idea, after all. 

It’s been eight months now. Eight months of getting rid of the filth in and out of Jabba’s palace so Fennec and Boba could move in and call it a home. Bib Fortuna was an incompetent leader and taking over the remnants of Jabba’s empire was easy even though not everyone was happy to see Boba Fett and Fennec Shand show up and call themselves king and queen of the castle. They’ve all been dealt with, of course, and those who were smart enough to not voice their concerns are now too afraid to say anything. 

It was Boba’s idea, coming back here. He had a debt to pay to the woman who saved his life after the sarlacc and considering she died over two years ago, getting rid of the people who had made her life so difficult was the only thing Boba could think of. 

Ely was a gentle soul and this is probably not what she would have wanted, but… Boba doesn’t have anything else to offer. And no matter how many times she told him she didn’t want anything from it, Boba hated the idea of not repaying her for what she did.

“Why are you helping me?” he’d asked her the first time his fever had lowered enough for him to think almost coherently. 

The old woman had pressed a wet and fresh cloth against his warm forehead. “The jawas dropped you on my property, you’re my responsibility,” she’d said, like it justified spending the past weeks taking care of him and wasting precious resources on a stranger. 

“I have credits. A lot of credits,” he’d told her one day, once the sarlacc’s poison had finally entirely left his system and the withdrawal hadn’t managed to kill him. 

She had laughed at him, then. “I’m an old woman, what would I do with your credits? No, I don’t want your money.”

“ _What_ do you want, then?”

She had given him a stern look, like he was a child in need of scolding. “For you to finish your stew.”

No matter how many times Boba had insisted on repaying her for her kindness, Ely had kept on deflecting. 

“Do you even know how to work on a farm?” she had asked after he’d told her to _at least_ let him help her around. 

“No,” he had muttered, almost embarrassed even though he had no reason to. He was a _bounty hunter,_ of course he had no idea how to work on a farm. "But you could show me."

"Mh. It's hard work. You're still weak."

Boba had resisted the urge to tell her to get karked. She had been right of course, he had still been recovering from the months he had spent inside the sarlacc, barely kept alive by the meagre nutrients present in the drug it had given him. He had lost so much weight and strength and the time he had spent bedriden because of his injuries and the fever hadn’t helped. It had taken him ages to recover from the fat and muscle mass loss he’d suffered. And the psychological damage… well, that was a whole other story. But Ely had been there for him, every step of the way. She had treated the burns on his body, spoon fed him like an infant when he couldn’t eat by himself, stood vigil by his bedside when the withdrawal from the sarlacc’s drug and his injuries had given him such a bad fever he had spent weeks between life and death. 

Boba hadn’t known then, that people could show so much kindness and care for a complete stranger. She had fascinated him, she still does, even two years after her death. 

She had ended up showing him how to help her work the vaporators and care for the banthas. It'd been hard work and it had helped Boba rebuild his strength, focus on something that wasn't the loss of his armor and how disappointed his father would be, and tired him out enough to put him to sleep the moment he'd gone to bed. 

"You don't belong here, Boba Fett," she'd told him one evening, after they were done eating dinner and were just relaxing on the small bench in front of the house. "You'll get better, and you'll go back out there. You belong to the stars."

Boba hadn't said a word, unable to voice his doubts and fears. But he probably wouldn’t have needed to anyway. Somehow, she’d been able to read him like an open book.

Ely had died that night. Just like that, in her sleep. Boba had found her the next morning, looking peaceful.

In the two years he had spent with her, she had become the closest thing to family Boba had had since his father's death and her name joined Jango's in the remembrance he still says every night before going to bed.

Getting Tatooine rid of the people who'd been responsible for the death of every member of Ely's family, leaving her alone for so many years until those karking jawas dropped Boba at her front door, was the only thing he could offer her. 

Revenge wasn't her way, but it is Boba's.

It’s been eight months since they took the throne and Jabba’s palace now looks like an entirely different place. It actually looks more like the old monastery it used to be, rather than the smelly den of a hutt. If taking over the throne and dismantling what was left of Jabba’s empire had been Boba’s idea, what they built in its stead had been Fennec’s. It’s a bit funny, how two people who spent most of their life working alone because they couldn’t trust anyone enough, suddenly decided to create a mercenary brotherhood. 

They started small, but the news spread fast and more and more skilled fighters from across the galaxy traveled to Tatooine to join them. Most of them are former stormtroopers who defected from the Empire - or rather, what is left of it - and desperately need a new goal Boba and Fennec are more than willing to provide them with. By joining the brotherhood, they have its protection, a solid reputation and a place to return to when their job is done.

Boba supposes he ought to be proud of what they built together with Fennec. The business is running quite smoothly and their name is getting bigger across the Outer Rim, meaning they have more clients willing to hire the brotherhood’s mercenaries.

But their success means that Boba and Fennec barely have time to leave the palace anymore and Boba now has to deal with a lot more flimsiwork than he ever thought he'd encounter in his entire life.

Fennec seems to be thriving. Boba is bored out of his mind.

Boba stands up with a groan. His legs are still shaky, but it’s getting a bit better. One hand still gripping the edge of the sink, he looks up and frowns at his reflection. Kriff, he looks like shit. The dark circles under his eyes are getting bigger and he’s still a bit pale from having puked his guts out in the sink. Wrinkling his nose, Boba cleans it up and brushes his teeth to get rid of the taste inside his mouth. They finally finished installing the water recycling system and Boba has been shamelessly taking advantage of it. He’s from a water world, after all, and has always despised sonics. 

Boba takes a quick shower to get rid of the sweat covering his body and effectively chase tonight’s nightmare away. He puts some clothes on and his armor, save for the helmet he keeps tucked under his arm as he exits his bedroom. Fennec is already up and brewing caf as he enters the kitchen of their shared quarters inside the palace. Both of them aren’t morning people so she simply nods at him and places a cup of caf in front of him once it’s done brewing. She sits in front of him and grabs her datapad to start reviewing the last contract she drafted, probably.

Fennec is _good_ at this. Not only at drafting contracts, but at dealing with the clients, managing the palace and leading the people who work for them. She also has a keen eye to determine who will make a good leader for the teams they send on missions. Boba feels oddly incompetent next to her. His younger self would have _hated_ it and he is surprised to realize it doesn’t bother him that much.

“You’re staring,” Fennec says without looking up from her datapad, jostling him out of his thoughts.

“I like watching you work,” he shrugs.

She wrinkles her nose. “Disgusting.”

“Not like _that_.” Boba rolls his eyes. “Why do you always have to ruin everything?”

“Because you’re being cute. I hate when you’re being cute. It didn’t suit you when you were thirteen, it definitely doesn’t suit you now.” 

“I should have let you die.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I can’t believe you’re older than me.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually talking to me before I’ve finished my morning caf.”

Boba snaps his mouth shut and scowls. Looking away, he buries his face in his mug of caf and takes a sip. It’s weak, because neither of them can handle strong caf after what happened to them, but at least they can still drink some. It’s also slightly sweet, because no matter how much Fennec loves to pretend she doesn’t care about him, she noticed he prefers sugar with his caf and never fails to put the exact amount in his cup every morning. 

“Alright,” she says and puts her datapad down. “You want to talk. So talk.”

Boba frowns. “I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

She gives him a stern look and Boba remains stubbornly silent until, finally, he caves in. 

“I need to get away from here,” he blurts out. 

Fennec arches a brow at him and Boba winces. “Just for a while. We got a few solo missions, right? Or I could lead a team.”

“You’re supervising the new recruits’ training this week,” she says and Boba opens his mouth.”But,” she adds before he can say anything. “I could have Jael replace you. He should be back tomorrow.”

“You-- really?” 

Fennec’s features soften. “Boba. You’re miserable here.” He frowns, ready to argue, but she gives him a pointed look. “I know about the nightmares. And I don’t think it’ll get better simply by leaving Tatooine, but I do think you need to get away for a bit. Think about what you really want. Because this,” she says, making a gesture with her free hand, “is not what you really want.” 

Boba looks away. “You were right. I shouldn’t talk to you before you’ve had your morning caf.”

She actually laughs at that. “I’ll find you a job. In the meantime, you’ve got new recruits to terrorize.” 

Fennec grabs her datapad and her cup of caf before she stands and leaves the kitchen. Boba stares at his own cup with a frown. He hates how easily she’s always been able to read him. She’s like this with everyone so it’s no surprise, but Boba doesn’t like the thought of anyone being able to know what he’s thinking. Of course she knows about the nightmares. If they were different people, Boba would have asked if she still had them too. They would have talked about how getting so close to death shook them to the core and left an imprint they’ll likely never get rid of. 

But they’re not that kind of people. 

Boba finishes his caf and puts his helmet on before heading towards the training room. There are three new recruits already waiting for him inside, all of them human or close enough. Boba hasn’t bothered reading the small files Fennec sent him, he never does. He prefers watching them in action to make up his mind about them, and there’s no use in trying to remember their name if they’re not going to make a good impression on him. 

“Morning,” he grunts.

Two of them immediately scramble at attention and Boba snorts. They couldn’t be more obvious. The two boys look like they’re barely older than eighteen and the girl seems to be in her mid-twenties. She glares at them and hisses something that sounds a lot like _idiots_ under her breath. 

“I didn’t know the Empire recruited babies. Although I can’t say I’m surprised.”

They both flush a bright red at that.

“We’re not--” the one on the left starts.

“No one cares, kid,” he interrupts him. “Who you were and what you used to do before you came here don’t matter.”

They visibly relax at that. 

“I don’t care why you’re here either. All I want to know is what you’re good at and how fast you can learn.”

The three of them nod and with that, their first training session can start. 

The two boys are Lin and Kayden. Lin is a terrible shooter, but he’s pretty good at hand-to-hand combat. Kayden can apparently hack anything and with a little bit of training, could become a good sharpshooter, but he’s a mediocre fighter. The girl is Robin and she used to be a TIE pilot, so she can fight but she’ll be more efficient inside a cockpit. 

Boba is merciless with them but none of them complain. That’s the good thing about former imperial recruits, they’re used to being yelled at and beaten up by drill sergeants and they’re so desperate to find a place that will welcome them and give them some sense of order they’ll take any kind of abuse without saying a word. 

Lucky for them, Boba is tough, but he’s also fair. When midday comes, they’re exhausted and drenched in sweat but there’s a fire in their eyes Boba can’t not appreciate. 

He gives them an hour break to eat something and cool down a bit. 

Boba doesn’t like eating in public, so he retreats to his own quarters instead of joining the others in the throne room. He is probably the last one who still calls it that, considering there is no more throne in there. Fennec refurbished the room and turned it into a comfortable place where members of the brotherhood can share a meal or relax with a drink in-between jobs. Boba supposes he would have enjoyed the camaraderie when he was younger, but that ship had entered hyperspace years ago. He’d much rather eat alone or with Fennec now. She isn’t there when Boba enters their shared quarters but she rarely is at lunch. He did his best to save her and find her the best medic on this forsaken world when he found her, but most of her digestive system is karked and there’s a lot of food she can’t process anymore. She says she doesn’t mind, eating has always been more about survival than pleasure for her, but he knows there are some things she misses terribly. 

Just like he does. 

No matter how hard she tried, there are some things Ely couldn’t entirely fix and Boba’s stomach is one of them. Boba's diet used to be a mess when he was younger; he could eat basically anything without ever worrying about the state it'd leave him in. He can’t do that anymore. Spicy food is banned from his diet. He can’t eat too much fat, too much sugar or too many carbs. He can’t eat too much of _anything_ actually and needs small but frequent meals through the day. Straying away from his new rigorous diet means he’ll probably end up puking his guts up soon after eating.

It’s annoying. Another daily reminder of what happened to him and how close he came to dying because he didn't pay attention enough and let a _half-blind_ Solo hit his jetpack.

What a karking idiot.

Since eating is a lot less fun than it used to be, Boba makes quick work of fixing himself something for lunch. He uses the time he has left to start drafting a training program for the three new recruits. He tries to leave enough room for Jael to make adjustments in case he notices anything Boba hasn't and sends a copy to Fennec before he heads back down to the training room. The three recruits are already waiting for them there but it's no surprise considering they're former imperials. They probably ate their lunch as fast as possible and spent the rest of their break worrying over what would be the appropriate time to come back. 

Boba never thought he'd have the patience to teach, but the three of them are good students, which helps. They seem genuinely excited by the training program Boba came up with and from what he gathered about the way stormtroopers were trained, he isn't entirely surprised. The smallest praise gets them all fired up - even though Robin tries not to show much, he can see how affected she really is - and they're surprised to be encouraged to improve their flaws instead of being reprimanded for them.

By mid afternoon, they really look on the verge of collapsing, so Boba puts an end to it before one of them gets hurt.

"That's it for today. I don't want to see any of you do anything but rest until tomorrow morning, understood?"

"Yes, sir!" they exclaim and even Robin joins them this time.

"Good. Find Zee and ask him to show you the water room. You three earned an actual shower."

Boba is going soft, but it's worth the way their faces light up at the mention of a shower with water. He notices how they almost salute him before leaving and rolls his eyes. Boba leaves the training grounds to head outside. The twin suns are still high up in the sky and he’s glad for the helmet and flight suit protecting him from the scorching heat. Boba walks to the Slave I and unlocks it before stepping inside. The temperature is a lot more tolerable here so he removes his helmet and grabs a datapad to start running a full diagnostic on the ship. Fixing or improving the Slave I is something Boba has always enjoyed doing. 

He’d been lucky to find the Slave I where he’d left it before the sarlacc. He could thank the booby traps he’d installed for that, considering the dead body he’d found inside. Getting rid of the stench had taken weeks, but at least no one had dared to try again. 

He doesn’t know what he would have done if he had lost his armor _and_ his ship. 

As always when he works on the Slave I, Boba loses track of time and the twin suns have set when he finally exits the ship. There is music and loud voices bantering playfully coming from the former throne room and Boba ignores the sound of crashing he hears as he passes by it. They know better than to break anything important and if they did, well, that’s Fennec’s problem, not his. 

Fennec is in their shared quarters. Boba hears the sound of her voice the second he steps inside and freezes when he recognizes the other one talking with her.

Fennec kept the Marshal’s comm code and they’ll sometimes call each other to catch up. It’s actually kind of sweet to see Fennec making friends but every time he hears the Marshal’s voice, Boba is reminded of the fact that Din never commed him.

Boba grits his teeth. He really needs to get a grip. It’s been eight months and he already knows through Fennec - who heard it from the Marshal - that Din decided to join Bo-Katan once he recovered from his injuries. He didn’t go after his kid and after looking into it like she had promised to, the Marshal apparently hadn’t found anything alarming about Skywalker. He’s a war hero, the last known Jedi trying to rebuild his new order in a secret location to avoid endangering his young students. He has the support of a few Senators - all former Rebellion, of course - and stays away from the affairs of the New Republic. 

“He’s a good man, Boba. No matter how much you hate the Jedi, there’s probably no safer place for the child to be but with Skywalker,” Fennec had said ruefully.

Din made a choice and Boba doesn’t like it, but he respects it. Now that he has had time to cool down, he can admit that he was wrong to imply Din didn’t care about the child and took the first opportunity to get rid of him. 

He was wrong, and Din has every right to not want to see him ever again. Boba is not upset with him. He’s angry at himself for still thinking about a man he pushed away by being a karking idiot. 

Boba sighs and makes sure Fennec hears him when he steps further into their quarters. He doesn’t really want to walk in on a private conversation or worse, on them talking about him. He only steps inside the living room when he hears her bid the Marshal goodbye.

“How’s your long-distance girlfriend?” Boba asks and removes his helmet to put it down on the table.

Fennec rolls her eyes. "I got a job for you," is all she says before she hands him her datapad.

"The client is very secretive, they wouldn't give me a name and the cargo is a complete mystery, but they've already payed half in advance for a five-man team to retrieve their cargo on Manaan and take it to Ord Mantell."

Boba frowns at the datapad and skims through the file Fennec put together. Ord Mantell means that whoever their client is probably has a deal with Black Sun. Boba has dealt with them before so that’s not an issue. His eyes widen when he sees the amount of credits the client already paid.

"That's _half?"_

Fennec nods. "You know I don't like it when they're being so mysterious but… it _is_ a lot of money. And that's also why I'd rather send you. You have good instincts and you'll be able to deal with it if things go south."

Boba hums. He doesn't like not knowing what he's dealing with but the brotherhood could really use the credits and Boba is already excited at the thought of spending at least a week away from Tatooine.

"I'll take it. You built the team yet?"

"I have suggestions," she says carefully. 

Which is her way of saying that he should really listen to her, even though she knows she can't really make him do anything. It's a good thing Boba trusts her on this.

"Tell me."

Fennec smiles, pleased.

“You can’t take the Slave I, it’s way too recognizable. So I was thinking… Chaada, Taldyn, Wayn and Zedd. Zedd’s ship is big enough to take you all to Manaan and I know it’s not the Slave I, but it has decent firepower.”

Boba makes a face, but he nods. He doesn’t like not being the one piloting and he hates not flying in the Slave I even more, but she’s right. The Slave would attract too much attention. He doesn’t have anything to say about the name she suggested either. They’re all good and smart fighters and Boba has already worked with some of them before. 

“Sounds good.”

Fennec arches a brow. “Nothing to add? Kriff, you really want to get off this planet, don’t you?”

Boba scowls. “Don’t make me regret putting you in charge,” he says and hands her the datapad.

“I put myself in charge, little Bo,” she sing-songs as she grabs the datapad.

The old nickname doesn’t make him cringe like it used to, but it still makes him scrunch up his nose in disgust. As always, she finds it hilarious.


End file.
